I may have stated before that I have become a fan of Glee. That doesn't mean I'm going to go "like" it on facebook or get a t-shirt or anything like that. I may buy a CD at some point. Certainly I have the DVDs but that's how I get my TV viewing done.
Glee's resident airhead Brittany Pierce is as innocent as they come. Naive and gullible, she is a feather in the wind, blown from one thing to another. She is manipulated by bad guy Coach Sue, devastated by a stray offense from boyfriend Artie, and frankly suspicious her cat Mr. Tubbykins has started smoking again. And she is an inherently good person. If someone wants something, it's probably for a good reason. So Brittany tries to make that happen - whether it's a good thing or not. Introduced in the series as a mindless minion for the bad guys, Brittany has become a good guy as the character of the people around her improves.
Watching her on the screen, it's easy to love Brittany. She's like the endearingly charming moppet that sits in front of you in church. That this endearingly charming moppet is a tall, attractive blonde is beside the point. Like your favorite niece, you don't want to see her hurt for anything.
In contrast, the character I'm portraying for the play The Foreigner is the polar opposite of Brittany. Owen Musser is mean and completely comfortable with being mean. He hates and revels in hate. He's selfish and demeaning, mocking and rude. And he's dumb as a post.
You might think you know who the idiot is in The Foreigner. But if you don't think it's Owen, you're wrong.
So I recall every hateful sneer in the hallways, every flipped bird in traffic, pull all those to the forefront and wear them on my face for a couple of hours. I've almost got all my lines nailed down and once we've finished building the set (we've raised the stage three feet for the sake of the production, I hope everyone can see okay) I'll be able to hammer down my blocking as well.
Becoming Tom Rogers for And Then There Were None was tough enough, bringing to life the worst moments of that poor guy. That left me emotionally drained, just wrung out. But pulling Owen out of the recesses leaves me wearing thoughts and attitudes that I'd rather never have.
I'm putting myself through all this stress for the sake of entertaining people, and I'm doing it for free. I think I might be crazy.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Monday, October 17, 2011
Becoming Another
It's been about six months since I stepped on stage for the first time, which means it's about time for Norris Little Theatre to put on another production.
This time it's The Foreigner by Larry Shue. According to some, it's a little...controversial. There's a couple of bad guys, a stack of good guys, a couple of deliberate misdirections that run smack headlong into each other. And that's where the excitement begins.
I read somewhere - darned if I can find it now, dangitall there's no browsing history in my head - that Shue came up with the idea for The Foreigner either as a result of or during a visit to Japan, where the very polite people regarded Shue's own inept handling of the culture shock with amusement and patience. From such humble beginnings spring creativity's children.
Shall I tell you my character? I can't see why not. The play is out there, of course. Shue, poor fellow, didn't live long enough to see it become the success that it was. The Foreigner played Broadway for over 600 performances, but Shue had died by the time that run was over.
My character's name is Owen Musser. He's a bad guy. He knows he's a bad guy and is totally okay with it, because he's certain the conviction of his beliefs is right and good. In one spot, Owen tells another character, "I can't see how you're plannin' to take anything over 'thout raisin' a little hell." Owen is willing, maybe even eager, to be that hellraiser. He's a bully, he's cheerfully hateful, he's threatening and overbearing. And he is totally okay with it.
And I reach into myself, find every awful person who sat behind me and kicked my chair in French class, threw the dodgeball at my head in gym, even cut me off in traffic, and I have another piece of Owen to put in front of an audience.
How well will that work out? We'll see.
Curtain goes up November 4, 5 and 6.
This time it's The Foreigner by Larry Shue. According to some, it's a little...controversial. There's a couple of bad guys, a stack of good guys, a couple of deliberate misdirections that run smack headlong into each other. And that's where the excitement begins.
I read somewhere - darned if I can find it now, dangitall there's no browsing history in my head - that Shue came up with the idea for The Foreigner either as a result of or during a visit to Japan, where the very polite people regarded Shue's own inept handling of the culture shock with amusement and patience. From such humble beginnings spring creativity's children.
Shall I tell you my character? I can't see why not. The play is out there, of course. Shue, poor fellow, didn't live long enough to see it become the success that it was. The Foreigner played Broadway for over 600 performances, but Shue had died by the time that run was over.
My character's name is Owen Musser. He's a bad guy. He knows he's a bad guy and is totally okay with it, because he's certain the conviction of his beliefs is right and good. In one spot, Owen tells another character, "I can't see how you're plannin' to take anything over 'thout raisin' a little hell." Owen is willing, maybe even eager, to be that hellraiser. He's a bully, he's cheerfully hateful, he's threatening and overbearing. And he is totally okay with it.
And I reach into myself, find every awful person who sat behind me and kicked my chair in French class, threw the dodgeball at my head in gym, even cut me off in traffic, and I have another piece of Owen to put in front of an audience.
How well will that work out? We'll see.
Curtain goes up November 4, 5 and 6.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Saving energy, expending energy
At work, we've been working hard to turn the wick down on our utility bills. It appears to be working.
Part of what made such a big difference was receiving a large and welcome donation from a supporter. Now usually a donation is in the form of a check, and that's great. Sometimes however, the donation takes the form of goods. Sometimes those donations fall a little flat - do we really need this many admittedly cute hand-knitted wool hats?
Not this time. This guy's donation was off the charts. Several boxes of Sylvania fluorescent tubes in the new and relatively unnoticed 25-watt size. Occupancy sensors. LED bulbs that, among other things, are rated for about double my very (very) best incandescent bulbs can do. Am I installing those in the very peak of the chapel? Oh yes. I hate changing those bulbs, and if these LED floodlights last even half as long as their package copy says, I won't have to think about them again until 2015.
So what I have here is over $3000 worth of lighting products. The fluorescent tubes are hard to come by, and not carried by the vendors that I have accounts with which makes them even tougher to acquire for work. I always knew they'd make a tangible dent if I could just get hold of them. And now here they are.
In their first month, our utility bill took a dip. In spite of our electric rate going up 10% over the same period last year, our bill went down 10% due to decreased usage. That's some serious progress. And that was the first month, when I hadn't gotten everything installed.
The second month, more stuff is installed. Not all of it, still - there's a lot of equipment and consumables here, it's a big job and some of it I've gotten done with volunteer crews - but we're getting closer. In the first month our dollar savings was $1800. In the second month, $2200.
Not bad by any stretch. I've never seen our utility bill go down from one year to the next. In two months, it's dropped like a stone.
It just takes an awful lot of work to make it happen. Chapel lights, like I said, require a lift. Thirty-five feet or more from floor to peak, those lights aren't something you just reach up and grab. Fortunately this time another volunteer crew was installing some audio-visual gear and brought their own scissor lift. Hey presto, job's done and I didn't die of vertigo.
In one room there's 192 fluorescent tubes to replace. I counted. In the dining room, another 158. In another room, 96. Each tube replaced represents a 7-watt savings over the old installation. That represents over 3000 watts of electricity we're not using anymore and if you don't think that's much, well, maybe it isn't in the grand scheme of things. But every hour we can avoid that 3000 watts is an hour we save about 45 cents. There's over 600 hours in a month, and some of those lights are on all the time. Getting the message across about turning lights off has made a big difference too, and setback thermostats. It's finally all coming together. It's take a huge effort on the parts of way more than just me, but it's finally coming together.
Part of what made such a big difference was receiving a large and welcome donation from a supporter. Now usually a donation is in the form of a check, and that's great. Sometimes however, the donation takes the form of goods. Sometimes those donations fall a little flat - do we really need this many admittedly cute hand-knitted wool hats?
Not this time. This guy's donation was off the charts. Several boxes of Sylvania fluorescent tubes in the new and relatively unnoticed 25-watt size. Occupancy sensors. LED bulbs that, among other things, are rated for about double my very (very) best incandescent bulbs can do. Am I installing those in the very peak of the chapel? Oh yes. I hate changing those bulbs, and if these LED floodlights last even half as long as their package copy says, I won't have to think about them again until 2015.
So what I have here is over $3000 worth of lighting products. The fluorescent tubes are hard to come by, and not carried by the vendors that I have accounts with which makes them even tougher to acquire for work. I always knew they'd make a tangible dent if I could just get hold of them. And now here they are.
In their first month, our utility bill took a dip. In spite of our electric rate going up 10% over the same period last year, our bill went down 10% due to decreased usage. That's some serious progress. And that was the first month, when I hadn't gotten everything installed.
The second month, more stuff is installed. Not all of it, still - there's a lot of equipment and consumables here, it's a big job and some of it I've gotten done with volunteer crews - but we're getting closer. In the first month our dollar savings was $1800. In the second month, $2200.
Not bad by any stretch. I've never seen our utility bill go down from one year to the next. In two months, it's dropped like a stone.
It just takes an awful lot of work to make it happen. Chapel lights, like I said, require a lift. Thirty-five feet or more from floor to peak, those lights aren't something you just reach up and grab. Fortunately this time another volunteer crew was installing some audio-visual gear and brought their own scissor lift. Hey presto, job's done and I didn't die of vertigo.
In one room there's 192 fluorescent tubes to replace. I counted. In the dining room, another 158. In another room, 96. Each tube replaced represents a 7-watt savings over the old installation. That represents over 3000 watts of electricity we're not using anymore and if you don't think that's much, well, maybe it isn't in the grand scheme of things. But every hour we can avoid that 3000 watts is an hour we save about 45 cents. There's over 600 hours in a month, and some of those lights are on all the time. Getting the message across about turning lights off has made a big difference too, and setback thermostats. It's finally all coming together. It's take a huge effort on the parts of way more than just me, but it's finally coming together.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Steve Jobs and Why America Needs More Jobs
"This was the closest I've been to facing death, and hopefully it's the closest I get for a few more decades." Steve Jobs on his original bout with pancreatic cancer, in the commencement speech to Stanford University's graduating class of 2005.
That's all I have at this moment, but there will be more presently.
That's all I have at this moment, but there will be more presently.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Where the Heck Have You Been?
Vacation. Felt great. Too short, but they always are.
At this moment I really don't have much to say. I don't ever have anything that's going to really light up anyone's world, but I've got even less right now.
Sorry.
Check back later.
At this moment I really don't have much to say. I don't ever have anything that's going to really light up anyone's world, but I've got even less right now.
Sorry.
Check back later.
Friday, September 16, 2011
Something to Be Proud About?
Vermont got slammed in the most recent bout of hurricanes. Flooded in a big way, there are a great many roads in Vermont that aren't actually in Vermont anymore. They're just gone.
That's a problem when you're trying to get to work or to school. It turns out that one school in particular has a bunch of kids who are only connected by a road or two, but in the wake of the storm there are no roads at all.
Enter the wooded path. There's a convenient footpath through the woods from the remote neighborhood to the school that serves pretty well. A half-mile of walking from one end to the other, while roads and whatnot are being rebuilt the path is patrolled by adult volunteers as kids make their way to school. And some low-speed motorized traffic (think golf carts and utility vehicles) are shuttling back and forth carrying seniors and performing path maintenance.
A half-mile of walking is good. Entirely too many people see a walk of more than two blocks as reason to break out some kind of wheels. But for the principal of the school to call out the kids who are making the trek to laud them for their extra effort is, I think, inappropriate.
First of all, I walked a half-mile to school as an elementary student. Second grade, every day, rain or shine. No big deal. And then when the day was over, I walked back. As a high school student, I rode my bike about a mile each way every day. No big deal.
In an age when we're wringing our hands over the increasing rates of obesity in children, walking to school isn't something that should be held up as praiseworthy. It should be obligatory. Or just take the Playstations and Internet connections away, force them to go run around outside and work off that last trip to Golden Corral. That they're doing it is good, that other kids aren't is pretty sad.
A teacher at the school in the news item said his GPS spent too much time displaying "Recalculating," and he turned it off and figured out the best route for himself. I'm really disappointed by this. First of all, the Global Positioning System device's default behavior is to assume that the user is only on roads and will need whatever directions it gives to be in the form of road directions. Secondly, the teacher was relying on GPS. It's also a point brought up by the article that these people were coming from "the dark side of the mountain," that they had no electricity. Before long the batteries in the GPS will die and then what will the teacher do?
I've said it before: maps always work. Even when they're incredibly old and out of date, the odds of the roads the maps depict being actually gone are next to zero. And in this special case where roads really are gone, the maps still depict relationships of things to each other, and when the power goes out the map still works. So if you can find any landmark and make a rough guess at what direction is north, you can fake your way until you find more concrete references or familiar territory.
I like to say that no matter how lost I am, I can't be too lost: there are still lines on the road. Sweetie took it a step further one day: "How lost can we be? There's still a road." She was right, of course. I've never been anywhere that someone else hadn't been there before me.
I think our pioneer forebears would look at our blundering, tenderfoot "making do" and shake their heads in plain dismay. To them, the path would be like a broad, paved highway, a cleared and delineated route from one place to another. So while it's good to see the kids determined to get to school and not letting the absence of roads hold them back, I'm not impressed that they're so proud of having achieved it. It's just not that big a deal.
That's a problem when you're trying to get to work or to school. It turns out that one school in particular has a bunch of kids who are only connected by a road or two, but in the wake of the storm there are no roads at all.
Enter the wooded path. There's a convenient footpath through the woods from the remote neighborhood to the school that serves pretty well. A half-mile of walking from one end to the other, while roads and whatnot are being rebuilt the path is patrolled by adult volunteers as kids make their way to school. And some low-speed motorized traffic (think golf carts and utility vehicles) are shuttling back and forth carrying seniors and performing path maintenance.
A half-mile of walking is good. Entirely too many people see a walk of more than two blocks as reason to break out some kind of wheels. But for the principal of the school to call out the kids who are making the trek to laud them for their extra effort is, I think, inappropriate.
First of all, I walked a half-mile to school as an elementary student. Second grade, every day, rain or shine. No big deal. And then when the day was over, I walked back. As a high school student, I rode my bike about a mile each way every day. No big deal.
In an age when we're wringing our hands over the increasing rates of obesity in children, walking to school isn't something that should be held up as praiseworthy. It should be obligatory. Or just take the Playstations and Internet connections away, force them to go run around outside and work off that last trip to Golden Corral. That they're doing it is good, that other kids aren't is pretty sad.
A teacher at the school in the news item said his GPS spent too much time displaying "Recalculating," and he turned it off and figured out the best route for himself. I'm really disappointed by this. First of all, the Global Positioning System device's default behavior is to assume that the user is only on roads and will need whatever directions it gives to be in the form of road directions. Secondly, the teacher was relying on GPS. It's also a point brought up by the article that these people were coming from "the dark side of the mountain," that they had no electricity. Before long the batteries in the GPS will die and then what will the teacher do?
I've said it before: maps always work. Even when they're incredibly old and out of date, the odds of the roads the maps depict being actually gone are next to zero. And in this special case where roads really are gone, the maps still depict relationships of things to each other, and when the power goes out the map still works. So if you can find any landmark and make a rough guess at what direction is north, you can fake your way until you find more concrete references or familiar territory.
I like to say that no matter how lost I am, I can't be too lost: there are still lines on the road. Sweetie took it a step further one day: "How lost can we be? There's still a road." She was right, of course. I've never been anywhere that someone else hadn't been there before me.
I think our pioneer forebears would look at our blundering, tenderfoot "making do" and shake their heads in plain dismay. To them, the path would be like a broad, paved highway, a cleared and delineated route from one place to another. So while it's good to see the kids determined to get to school and not letting the absence of roads hold them back, I'm not impressed that they're so proud of having achieved it. It's just not that big a deal.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
The Frustrating Lie of the A-Lister Body, and Why It's Okay
Looking at Google News, skimming over the Entertainment section, I see photos of famous people who have famously maintained their shapes.
In spite of having three kids, Julia Roberts is still slim. She's my age, plus a couple of months. After a few kids and a few decades, the metabolism slows down, the body takes a little extra effort to keep it that trim shape that was so easy to maintain as a teenager. How does she do it?
Easy. She's a star.
You hear about A-lister celebrities, the ones whose very presence make whatever event they're attending somehow more important than other events. I contend that that's a load of old tosh but Hollywood doesn't work that way. People like Sigourney Weaver and Julia Roberts and Will Smith automatically get the flashbulbs going, even if all they're doing is just walking down the street. Roberts and Smith are my age, Weaver is over 60. And let's be honest, she looks great. What all these people have in common is: they're wealthy, and they don't have steady jobs.
That leaves plenty of time and room in the budget for personal trainers. If I was a movie actor, my face and body would be very large parts of my stock in trade. As it happens I'm not tall, not especially muscular and a little funny-looking if I haven't shaved my head recently. Thanks to genetics, my hair doesn't come in on top and if I don't keep the rest under control, it grows in a Bozo-like pattern. So I'd have to go all Bruce Willis on it and just like Bruce, I'd have to spend time at the gym. At 56, Bruce is built like an offseason hockey player.
So instead of five days a week, 40 hours a day (I know that came out wrong but I'm leaving it in, some days it feels correct) of holding down the desk, working the phones and email, running parts and turning wrenches, these people are spending time keeping toned for the next time the cameras roll. Sometimes they can skip it for months on end, even years, and get it back when a picture comes around. Schwarzenegger has been way off form lately (being governor of a big self-contradictory state can do that to you) but could - and probably will - pull himself back together ere long. He's only 64. He's got plenty of acting years left in him.
When I get home, I'm coming off a long day of doing whatever needed doing. I'm just tuckered out. Could I go another couple of hours at a gym, toning up? Probably. But I wouldn't enjoy it much. I lift weights, a little, do some sit-ups and some push-ups, a little. But I've done my bit - I want to rest.
It's ironic, isn't it? Most of us work too hard to have an A-lister body. I don't know many women who look as good in their mid-60s as Helen Mirren does. But as a wealthy actress, she can devote a lot of time and effort to that physique. That's great for her, and kind of frustrating for a lot of the rest of us. The vast majority of everybody knows, "oh, she doesn't have a regular nine-to-five, she can spend all day every day at the gym keeping that shape." But then you see shots of her in her pink bikini and intellectual rationale just goes away. What's left is "dammit, I want to look like that."
Dammit, I want to look like that. Okay, maybe not exactly like Helen - the bikini straps get wound up in my chest hair. But I want to be a star. But I also have to confess I don't need it. And not needing it, I can live without it. And if I want that appearance badly enough, I can lift more weights, I can do more push-ups. I don't have to also tolerate the stresses of being an A-lister.
Can you imagine spilling your drink as an A-lister star? Coca-Cola all down your front, and next thing you know it's in the tabloids. What a pain that would be. And God forbid you have an itch in a place you shouldn't scratch in public - there's nowhere private enough to deal with that when the paparazzi are climbing trees to get a better look at you.
Is it any surprise that Harrison Ford, another A-lister (whose presence on the A-list may not be warranted anymore) lives somewhere in the middle of 800 acres of Wyoming wilderness? If I had to bust my butt working out to keep my butt trim into my 60s, I'd want privacy too.
In spite of having three kids, Julia Roberts is still slim. She's my age, plus a couple of months. After a few kids and a few decades, the metabolism slows down, the body takes a little extra effort to keep it that trim shape that was so easy to maintain as a teenager. How does she do it?
Easy. She's a star.
You hear about A-lister celebrities, the ones whose very presence make whatever event they're attending somehow more important than other events. I contend that that's a load of old tosh but Hollywood doesn't work that way. People like Sigourney Weaver and Julia Roberts and Will Smith automatically get the flashbulbs going, even if all they're doing is just walking down the street. Roberts and Smith are my age, Weaver is over 60. And let's be honest, she looks great. What all these people have in common is: they're wealthy, and they don't have steady jobs.
That leaves plenty of time and room in the budget for personal trainers. If I was a movie actor, my face and body would be very large parts of my stock in trade. As it happens I'm not tall, not especially muscular and a little funny-looking if I haven't shaved my head recently. Thanks to genetics, my hair doesn't come in on top and if I don't keep the rest under control, it grows in a Bozo-like pattern. So I'd have to go all Bruce Willis on it and just like Bruce, I'd have to spend time at the gym. At 56, Bruce is built like an offseason hockey player.
So instead of five days a week, 40 hours a day (I know that came out wrong but I'm leaving it in, some days it feels correct) of holding down the desk, working the phones and email, running parts and turning wrenches, these people are spending time keeping toned for the next time the cameras roll. Sometimes they can skip it for months on end, even years, and get it back when a picture comes around. Schwarzenegger has been way off form lately (being governor of a big self-contradictory state can do that to you) but could - and probably will - pull himself back together ere long. He's only 64. He's got plenty of acting years left in him.
When I get home, I'm coming off a long day of doing whatever needed doing. I'm just tuckered out. Could I go another couple of hours at a gym, toning up? Probably. But I wouldn't enjoy it much. I lift weights, a little, do some sit-ups and some push-ups, a little. But I've done my bit - I want to rest.
It's ironic, isn't it? Most of us work too hard to have an A-lister body. I don't know many women who look as good in their mid-60s as Helen Mirren does. But as a wealthy actress, she can devote a lot of time and effort to that physique. That's great for her, and kind of frustrating for a lot of the rest of us. The vast majority of everybody knows, "oh, she doesn't have a regular nine-to-five, she can spend all day every day at the gym keeping that shape." But then you see shots of her in her pink bikini and intellectual rationale just goes away. What's left is "dammit, I want to look like that."
Dammit, I want to look like that. Okay, maybe not exactly like Helen - the bikini straps get wound up in my chest hair. But I want to be a star. But I also have to confess I don't need it. And not needing it, I can live without it. And if I want that appearance badly enough, I can lift more weights, I can do more push-ups. I don't have to also tolerate the stresses of being an A-lister.
Can you imagine spilling your drink as an A-lister star? Coca-Cola all down your front, and next thing you know it's in the tabloids. What a pain that would be. And God forbid you have an itch in a place you shouldn't scratch in public - there's nowhere private enough to deal with that when the paparazzi are climbing trees to get a better look at you.
Is it any surprise that Harrison Ford, another A-lister (whose presence on the A-list may not be warranted anymore) lives somewhere in the middle of 800 acres of Wyoming wilderness? If I had to bust my butt working out to keep my butt trim into my 60s, I'd want privacy too.
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